


They Who Hunt Monsters: The Hawke Chronicles

by Emilinia_sama



Series: They Who Hunt Monsters [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, F/M, Factor of cool, Fenris in a quarian suit, Isabela is Isabela, M/M, Merrill is turian, Strap in this is going to be long, Swearing, Totally needless Hawke on motercycle chase scenes, Varric is elcor, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7255159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilinia_sama/pseuds/Emilinia_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mel and Allie Hawke are the brother and sister team of salvagers out in the Terminus trying to make a living and keep their pasts from catching up with them. A chance meeting with an escaped Cerberus experiment, however, puts a crimp in their daily routine, and introduces them to a terrorist organization out for multi-colored blood and humanity's best interests, a race of zombie insects hell bent on abducting anything that moves, and a legion of huge, squid-shaped death-bots out to destroy all sentient life as we know it.</p><p>Good times.</p><p>Warnings: rocky, adorable relationships; lots of xenophobia going around (sorry about that); tons of sibling bickering; and Varric is an elcor. Because.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Control Issues

**Author's Note:**

> Me and mine own nothing. Enjoy! :)

Let it be known that Allie Hawke detests Omega.  
  
It’s dirty, it smells like something died in several areas around the station—and something probably did, what’s worse—and the constant pounding bass resonating out, out, out from Afterlife like a heartbeat gives her a headache. The dark red lights and deep shadows all gave the impression of hell; such is not an impression far off the mark.  
  
It’s also the easiest place to make a sale, unfortunately.  
  
“Look, I went through a lot of trouble to get my hands on these FBA couplings, which might I clarify, comes from a discontinued line, and I will accept no less than 500 creds for it!” she tells the volus merchant who’s giving her a hard time about prices.  
  
Kol Zeeke wheezes, “ _ka-shoo_ Listen, Earth-clan, _ka-shoo_ the FBA line was discontinued for a reason. _Ka-shoo_ I have profits to make, and that piece of _ka-shoo_ garbage won’t get me 20 credits, _ka-shoo_ never mind your outrageous prices, _ka-shoo_.”  
  
“Oh like you moles don’t jack the shit out of prices anyway,” Allie groused with a roll of her stormy grey eyes. “Now quit trying to force me out of my hard earned money, and give me the 500 for it. Then you can jack up the price to whatever’ll get you your profit, and this quote, “Shitty” piece is off your shelf. See, I can do this business shit too.”  
  
“ _ka-shoo_ 20 credits, _ka-shoo_.”  
  
Allie and the volus merchant glared at one another—at least, she assumes the volus is glaring; it is rather difficult to discern facial expressions when one is stuffed in a enviro-suit—neither willing to give any ground, until after Allie’s omnitool gives a quiet ping. She straightens, flicking her dark tail of hair over her shoulder as she does so. “I have to take this call,” she growls, grabbing her merchandise and storming out with a tossed out, “Pleasure doing business with you.”  
  
She rounds the corner and pulls up her omnitool, grinning in dark satisfaction at the notice that her little hacker program was done, and she was now 2000 credits richer, courtesy of one Kol Zeeke. It didn’t make her like Omega, but she’d be damned if it didn’t feel good to punch up from time to time, and if there was anywhere in the universe that had people that often needed to be punched down…well, that was Ilium, really, but Omega had more than its fair share of too rich shits that needed to be kicked in the teeth.  
  
Now comes the hard part, Allie thought to herself. She began ciphering her newly earned money towards fuel and minor repairs for her and her brother’s ship, The Champion. She then sent an IM to her resident elcor and muscle, Varric to keep his lovely Bianca out where the hired help could see her and to make sure they didn’t make off with the silverware.  
  
Two seconds later: With dark glee: sure thing, Killer.  
  
With that settled, she began shopping around Omega’s markets for supplies. Omega was unfortunately not the Citadel, and therefore actual food was rather difficult to come by, especially when one shopped on a tight budget—as most of Omega no doubt did. As Allie, herself, did now.  
  
Still, she was in a hurry, and could only mentally apologize to her crew and herself for the poor fare when her omnitool rang. When she accepted the call, the grinning visage of her brother Mel appeared on the screen, along with the overwhelming thumping bass courtesy of Afterlife. “How’s things, Allie?” He had to essentially shout to be heard.  
  
“Kol Zeeke’s a bust.” She greeted him.  
  
Mel frowned, “He does know that line was discontinued, right?”  
  
“I only told him like three times. To which he told me it was discontinued for a reason, and worth fuck all.”  
  
“Damn,” Mel sighed, the camera tilting at a weird angle as he slumped forward against what Allie assumed was the bar. He was probably running his hand through his hair too. “How much did he offer?”  
  
“20.”  
  
The camera came back into focus. “And how much did you take?” he asked with a stern glower.  
  
“What the couplings are really worth.”  
  
“Allie—”  
  
“Don’t start the high and mighty shit, Mel. I don’t want to hear it.”  
  
Of course, Mel ignored her. “We’re not thieves anymore, Allana! We are not going to run around for the rest of our lives leeching off others!”  
  
“Oh because salvaging off the dead is so fucking noble,” she drawled. Mel wasn’t having it, though.  
  
“Look, I’m just as worried about Bethy as you are, but—”  
  
She’d had enough. “But nothing! Our baby sister has manifested as a biotic, alone except for Carver, and Maker knows he knows fuck all about that shit. And the brother who does know about that shit is wasting time trying to be all noble and grandstanding, and is chastising the sister who’s trying to get him to where he can do some fucking good!”  
  
Silence.  
  
Eventually, Mel sighed. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying your best, I just…” he sighed again as he raked his hand through his mess of dark frizzy curls, getting his fingers tangled in the welders’ goggles he kept permanently attached to his person. Allie noticed he had dark circles under his bright silver eyes, and he looked rather washed out, especially under Afterlife’s strobe lighting. He was having trouble sleeping again, she thought with a pang.  
  
“We worked so hard to get out of the Reds, Al. I know Bethy’s waiting for us, and Maker, but I’m absolutely terrified something bad’ll happen while we’re out where we can’t protect her, and it’s killing me, but…Allie, I don’t want this to make you…me…either of us backslide,” Mel pleaded. “I don’t want to do that again. Please.”  
  
Allie was silent for a time. She understood what her brother meant, and while she didn’t feel remorseful for pulling money off the greedy volus merchant, she did feel guilty for hurting Mel. Their parents had died when Mel was only 19, after all, and when Allie had just turned 17. It had been a fight to keep everything from going tits up and both Allie and Mel’d had to sacrifice a lot just to keep their family together. Essentially, they’d had to sell themselves out to the gang The Reds just to keep the feds off their back. Now they had The Champion, and a decent crew, and were more or less off The Reds’ radar, and were in the mind of keeping it that way.  
  
But now Bethany, the baby of the family, had manifested as a biotic, and the closest family member who could help her was Ari, their cousin, who was currently out on the Citadel, while the twins were back on earth for university.  
  
There was no one for them to fall back on except each other.  
  
At last, Allie sighed. “I’ll try, Mel.”  
\-------------------------------------------------  
  
Mel wondered sometimes if Aria was secretly a lover of old human literature, because Omega—and Afterlife in particular—had a distinct Dante’s Inferno vibe to it. The red lighting found all over the station was especially bright here, with accents of purple and occasionally white blending in, and all with the effect of hiding more than they revealed. There was the bass that beat out, out, out through the walls, the floors, through Mel’s very soul, until he felt as though the station would shake itself apart and him along with it.  
  
Still, if there was one kind of nice thing he could say about Omega, it was that it at least had layers to its depravity. And at the heart of it all was the Queen Bee herself, draped over her couch like it were a throne, and she a figurehead, watching the world as she herself was watched by all those beneath her. As Mel, himself, watched her.  
  
Technically, all ship captains that docked on Omega had to pay their respects towards Aria. Whether she paid it back at all was a matter of how important you were in the grand game. Hence, Mel was currently sitting at the bar where Aria couldn’t even see him. Honestly, a part of him preferred it that way. He knew what happened to those whose shadows grew too long.  
  
Still, Omega made him twitchy. Maybe it was the eezo mines messing with his biotics, but he seemed to feel like he was under a very intense microscope, one that everyone in the vicinity was looking through. Such was the reason he’d felt the need to bring Mercy with him. Mercy being a six foot tall anti-tank rifle he’d been tinkering and modifying ever since he’d found it on one of his more lucrative salvage runs several months back. He’d been trying to mod Mercy to tap into his biotic field to make her both lighter and deadlier, but Mercy it seemed didn’t want to cooperate with him, and most days he left her back on the ship.  
  
Today though, Mel felt like she was just what he’d need, and her nearly overbearing weight was strangely reassuring despite the fact that he was pretty sure she was not diverting peoples’ gazes.  
  
“Hey, pyjack.”  
  
Mel looked up at the Turian bartender—whose name he just could not remember—sliding another cheap asari ale his way. He frowned at the beer and then at the barkeep. “Courtesy of the guy at the end,” Barkeep stated, jacking his thumb over his shoulder to a guy in a trench coat—an honest to god trench coat—and hoodie. “Says he wants to talk to you in private.”  
  
Mel adjusted Mercy across his shoulder as he stared at Trench Coat. “Does he now?” he muttered taking in what details of the man he could. Which wasn’t much, really. The man seemed to have found one of the many spots in Afterlife that was very hard to see into. What he could make out was that under his popped collar and hood was light blonde hair, and what might’ve been a scar running down his chin. All other details were lost to the shadows of the bar.  
  
He essentially screamed unsettling.  
  
Mel looked back at the barkeep. “Did he say why?”  
  
The Turian shook his head with a disgusted expression. “Didn’t ask, and frankly don’t care. You pyjacks can take care of your own business.”  
  
Mel snorted. “Wow. You must make fantastic tips with an attitude like that.” With that, Mel stood, draining the last dregs of beer, leaving the other unattended. He didn’t need his wits addled, but he would at least see what the guy had bought him a beer for. Who knows, he thought, I might end up enjoying it.  
  
“Tell him I’ll be out by the back entrance.”  
\---------------------------------------------------  
  
Allie made her way over to her favorite stall. Behind it stood her favorite merchant—though she used the term “merchant” loosely. “Hey, Kenn.”  
  
Kenn looked up, “Oh, hello, Ms. Hawke. I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.” He was a sweet kid, one that didn’t fit Omega at all, Allie always thought.  
  
“Family thing,” Allie explained. “Would’ve been out longer otherwise.”  
  
“Everything ok?” Kenn asked, leaning forward with earnest concern.  
  
“Turns out my sister’s a biotic.” Allie snorted, “You’d think Mel being one would be bad enough, right? Now we gotta make enough to get back and get her out ASAP.”  
  
Kenn tilted his head in a frown. “Get her out what?”  
  
“ASAP. Anagram for ‘As soon as possible,’” Allie told him with a wry smile.  
  
Kenn shook his head. “You humans and your anagrams. Why can’t you just say normal words?”  
  
“‘Boshtet’ is normal?”  
  
“It would be if your accent wasn’t awful.”  
  
Allie laughed. “Oh-ho! Little baby Kenn shows his teeth. Harrot better watch his ass here soon. Or he would if I still can’t convince you to join my crew.”  
  
Kenn shook his head sadly, “I’d really love to, but…well, even if it wasn’t temporary, with my Pilgrimage, this was my mistake. I want to take responsibility for it.”  
  
Allie huffed a sad smile, “I understand that, but with the way Harrot’s steamrolling you, you’ll never make off this rock to finish your Pilgrimage, much less go home.”  
  
“Yeah, well, what’s that saying you humans have? ‘My plus to bear?’”  
  
“Cross.” Allie sighed. “Alright, do what you want kid. In the meantime, I’ve got some salvage to sell, and Harrot’s buyers pay shit prices. I was wondering if maybe you’d be interested. Maker knows you quarians know what hard-to-find tech is worth.”  
  
Kenn leaned forward in interest, and within ten minutes of haggling, Allie walked away with 200 credits in pocket, waving to the young quarrian as she went. “I’ll say hi to Merrill for you,” she promised, laughing as Kenn started stammering adorably. She was rather sorry she hadn’t thought to bring her Turian Cabal along for the deal; every interaction between her and Kenn was teeth-rottingly adorable.  
  
She just wished Merrill weren’t so romantically oblivious.  
  
She pulled up her omni to call Varric as she made her way to Afterlife.  
  
“With great enthusiasm: How goes things, Killer?”  
  
“Not bad. Just sold those FBAs to Kenn, and heading to Afterlife to pick up Mel. I figure Aria must be nearly done with him, right?”  
  
“Amused: I should think so. It’s been nearly half an hour. Business-like: the fuel crew has come and gone. You would not believe the jacked up prices around here.”  
  
“I’m the one paying for shit Varric. I think I have some idea.”  
  
“With laughter: true. Inquisitively: have you checked in with Isabela and Merrill yet?”  
  
“No, figured I’d hit you up first; see how things were.”  
  
“Sunnily: things are good. I got to poke Bianca at idiots. Satisfied: always a good time.”  
  
Allie smiled. “Glad to hear it. I’ll see you back on the ship. Can you tell Bela and Merrill shore-leave ends in thirty?”  
  
“In affirmation: sure thing, Killer. We’ll be seeing you.”  
  
Allie nodded and hung up as she made her way up to Afterlife. A hand on her shoulder kept her from going in, however. “Hold it, human,” snarled the batarian bouncer, “You got an appointment?”  
  
Allie raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t think I needed one just to pick someone up, four-eyes.”  
  
“Well you thought wrong. Either you have business with Aria, or you wait in line like everyone else.”  
  
Allie stumbled a bit as the batarian shoved her back, her dark tail falling over her shoulder. She was tempted for a minute to push back and start something with the bouncer—the fact that he was a batarian asshole just added fuel to the fire. But then she checked herself, straightened and brushed herself of imaginary dust. “This place is dead anyway,” she said with a toss of her hair. She turned to leave.  
  
And then turned back just to punch the asshole in the nose.  
  
It’s the little things in life.  
  
With that she hurried back towards the back market allies for the lower entrance. That one didn’t have any asshole batarian bouncers to turn her out.  
She did, however, discovered that the lower entrance had the brother she was looking for.  
  
He seemed to be arguing with a small man dressed in a trench coat, over what Allie couldn’t begin to guess.  
  
Whatever it was, the smaller man didn’t seem to like Mel’s argument. Allie froze as Trench Coat shoved her brother up against the wall before proceeding to thrust his hand into Mel’s chest.  
\--------------------------------------------  
  
There was a hand in his chest.  
  
There was a _hand_ in his _chest._  
  
There were literal fingers wrapping around his heart, and liquid-nitrogen lightning surging through his vessels, holy shit it _hurt_ , and he couldn’t breathe—  
  
There was a shout—a scream, more like, and Mel wasn’t quite sure if it was his or someone else’s. Rational thought was becoming rather difficult as his heart was squeezed, and distantly he could feel his biotics pulse and writhe, and the iron mental grip he usually kept on them was suddenly gone as the air left his lungs.  
  
Then something exploded out. Mel wasn’t sure if it had been his biotics or something else, but all of a sudden, the hand around his heart was gone, leaving behind a deep bruising ache he could feel every time he breathed. His head felt heavy, and he fell onto one hand to wretch and cough.  
  
Never had Omega’s recycled air tasted so damn good.  
  
Mel blinked in an attempt to clear his vision, and tried very, very hard not to pass out. As he looked up, he saw his sister knocked back on the floor a good three feet away, her partially collapsed shotgun in hand. He was also pleased to note that Mercy was still strapped across his chest, if slightly off kilter. Mel pushed his dark bangs out of his face, and caught sight of the man that had literally held his heart in hand.  
  
The blast—Mel was pretty sure it had been his biotics acting in self-defense—had blown off the man’s hood, revealing hair like snow, thick and downy, and pure white, and a face that couldn’t have been more than 25. What Mel had thought was scars on the man’s chin were in fact tattoos that glowed in tandem to Mel’s biotic flares.  
  
He was striking.  
  
In any other circumstance, Mel would have been instantly, and immediately smitten.  
  
He was also pretty sure the guy was insane. As breathing became easier, Mel recalled the conversation—what little of it there had been between them—he’d had with the white haired man:  
  
_“I need your gun.”_  
  
_Mel stared at Trench Coat’s greeting. He couldn’t have heard that right. “I’m sorry, what?”_  
  
_“I need your gun.” So much for Mel’s optimism._  
  
_“Uh, no. Could you even carry Mercy? She’s taller than you are!”_  
  
_Trench Coat glared beneath his hood. “It’s important.”_  
  
_Mel glared right back. “Look, buddy, if you think you can make off with my gun, you gotta another think coming. Mercy’s mine. I found her, I remade her, and she’s mine. Go get your own bloody rifle.”_  
  
Then the hand in his chest.  
  
The sound of running footsteps had Mel looking up to the alleyway entrance. He saw Allie groan and lever herself up as a bunch of stark-white uniforms—something that was particularly noteworthy given Omega’s grime—came charging around the corner. Mel felt his heart stop at the sight of them, and then immediately restart as he called his biotics to pull Allie into his arms and run for the door to Afterlife.  
  
Allie stirred and gasped as they crouched inside the door. “Mel, what—?”  
  
He shushed her, putting a hand over her mouth for insurance. He kept an ear close; he wanted to know what exactly in the hell was going on. The uniform leading the rest stepped forward, bending over Trench Coat’s prone form. He pressed a finger to what Mel assumed was his comm link and a deep, tinny voice spoke from beneath his helmet, “Subject Alpha has been recovered. Appears to be unconscious but unharmed. Request permission to restrain.”  
  
Mel frowned. Subject…? So Trench Coat’s an experiment? Mel felt a shiver run down his spine as the pieces started to line up. Beside him, Allie shifted. “Mel, what the _fuck_ is going on?” she whispered.  
  
“I’m not sure,” he whispered back. “But I don’t like it.”  
  
His sister stiffened. “You can’t possibly be thinking—”  
  
The lead uniform cut off whatever Allie was going to say, “Affirmative. Tell Danarius he’ll have his pet back soon. We’ll meet you at the drop off: Charlie Lemon Tango 5573. Make sure he calls The Illusive Man to tell him Project Fenrir is back online.”  
  
The siblings stared at one another for a moment. Experiment…Illusive Man…Danarius…pet… One after another, the words flashed through Mel’s mind. There was a rage inside him building as each word followed the next.  
  
He was a biotic. He’d been an _experiment._  
  
He’d been a Red. He’d been someone else’s _pet._  
  
He was a salvager. He knew about the Illusive Man.  
  
He knew about _Cerberus._  
  
All of it built so fast, burned so hot, that his hands flared with dark energy. For a moment, he lost himself; he had no name, no true sense of self, just a burning in his gut, and a terrible need to rip something—someone in half.  
  
In a moment, he felt out of his head. He could see himself: flaring blue and black, dark energy normally invisible suddenly made manifest in a fury of light and sound. It wrapped around Mel like feathers; it looked like wings.  
  
He could see the man in the trench coat, awake and fighting, trying without success to fight off the Cerberus soldiers. He was overwhelmed by both numbers and his strange markings reaction to Mel’s growing power. Mel was certain the soldiers were saying something to him, but he was too far away, too deafened by power to hear it. But he could guess: words meant to bend him, break him; words meant to take all the fire from Trench Coat’s spirit, so that he would follow meekly and accept his fate.  
  
“Mel!”  
  
And there was his sister, his Allie, and through her Carver and Bethany. There was his ship, his crew, his life, staring at him through his sister’s eyes—stormy grey, darker than his silver, but often were they mistaken for twins, being of a height, and both taking more after their father’s dark, Russian features than their mother’s Dutch heritage. He saw in her face something he’d seen only a few times in recent memory: fear. Allie, his foul-mouthed, tough-skinned, hard-drinking little sister was scared.  
  
He saw all this and had to ask, “Help me, Allie.”  
\----------------------------------------  
  
Allie had felt many things when her parents passed away, but in retrospect, the greatest—and absolute worst feeling she could recall was fear. Fear in the certainty that the future she’d always thought she would have was gone, and gut-wrenching knowledge that all before her in that moment was so uncertain. Carver had always called Allie a control freak. It was only when she stood before her parents’ graves that Allie realized the worst thing in the universe: he was right.  
  
She had experienced that fear again when Carver had called her in the middle of a job. “Bethy’s a biotic, Al.”  
  
She felt that same detached fear now, as she looked at her older brother—his dark curls rising and falling as though suspended in water, the same shade as her own raven locks, his silver eyes alight with power and murderous intent alike, power wrapping and undulating and slithering around his body like snakes, or feathers. She knew his decision maybe even before he did, knew he would save this man in the trench coat, who’d not minutes earlier had attempted to kill him.  
  
She knew.  
  
And because she knew, she was scared.  
  
_What about us?_ She thought, _what’ll happen to us if you do this?_  
  
“Allie,” Mel murmured, voice soft despite the outflow of so much power, “Help me.”  
  
She knew. And she hated it, because she didn’t know where it would all lead.  
  
Still, her shotgun was in hand even before he’d asked and her resolve full even as the fear coursed through her mind. She closed her eyes, needing a moment to still, whispering her fear, “I hate you so much sometimes.”  
  
When she opened her eyes once more, Mel was smiling. It was a smile made of grief, and relief, and strangely…joy. He touched his forehead to hers, the closest they’d come to an embrace since…well, time to think about that later. “I tag, you bag,” she whispered, as though this were just another salvage run, just another mark on the streets back on Earth. As though the future wasn’t about to rapidly change now.  
  
Mel grinned and pulled Mercy over his shoulder. “Just try to keep up.”

TBC...


	2. The God-Killer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've gotten up to over TEN THOUSAND WORDS on my Word doc I'm wirting this series on, and so far, I'm only up to the SECOND CHAPTER of the FIRST STORY IN THIS SERIES.
> 
> I think this fic is out to kill me...
> 
> (Standard disclaimers apply. Standard pleas to not sue me also apply.)

“Who the hell are you?”

Mel watched as several of the Cerberus soldiers turned to him, pistols raised in warning. Ten immediately around Trench Coat, he counted, lined up in a messy semi-circle: two soldiers at Commander A-Hole’s shoulders, the remaining eight ringed around where their leader had Trench Coat pressed up against the wall. 

Behind him, he felt two taps against his shoulder. He tilted his head and smiled brightly. 

“Oh, you know,” he drawled— _Ten_ —pulling down his welders goggles to cover his eyes— _Nine_. “I’m just the guy here to kick your ass.” _Eight._

He dropped and rolled left, opposite Trench Coat, ears ringing from where bullets zipped past his ear. _Seven_. He thought maybe the soldier cursed, but didn’t hear the words, adrenaline rendering him deaf. _Six_. _Five_.

The leader shouted— _Four_ —but was cut short with a gurgle as an omniblade materialized through his throat, and Allie with it. _Three_. She pushed Trench Coat into the wall yelling, “Don’t Move!” _Two_. An orange glow came up around them as she activated her barrier. 

_Now!_  

Mel pushed up and let go. His biotics hummed through his skin, a doling bell in his mind. He pulled at his power as though it were elastic, shaping it, wielding it. 

Releasing it. 

In less than a second, a singularity field materialized within the ring of soldiers, sending both soldiers and shots in wild directions. Only three were caught though. 

_Bigger_. 

The elastic in his mind stretched and writhed like an animal caged. A slight static ran through his limbs as the singularity contracted and expanded wildly. Five caught now. 

_Bigger_. 

His biotics grew teeth, he couldn’t feel his fingers for the constant static running through him; his vision was starting to cross as his implant _screamed_ at him. But now there were eight of the ten soldiers flying around the hall. Mel gritted his teeth as he mounted Mercy and fired a single modified warp round into the singularity’s core. 

A flare of blue-white light, a thunderous _boom_ , and the biotic field exploded. Mel crumpled as his biotics black lashed with a mental snap, only Mercy’s weight and size holding him up. 

A flick of her wrist, and Allie dropped her tech shield. She fired one, two, three rounds off her shotgun off into the final of the hallway soldiers, overheating her gun. She turned towards the final five, noting distantly that Trench Coat slumped as soon as she let go of him. 

She ran towards the five blockading the hallway, cloaking once more. The first soldier she reached, she bashed over the head with her over-heated shotgun, sending him screaming to the ground as hot metal and glass rained into his eyes. He died with a stab of her omniblade through his skull. The second and third, she overloads their weapons, the flaring lightening making them drop the guns, and she finished them too with her blade. 

Two left, and her cloak dropped. 

Allie felt the breath leave her body as a bullet ripped through her side. Her finger pressed down on the trigger, and she fired blindly. _Missed_. She thought she heard Mel yell, vaguely felt her shoulder numb as her suit released medigel into the wound. _Doesn’t matter._  

One guy in front, the other not in sight. _One at a time, Allana_. She brought her shout gun up quickly, and fired low. The spray took a knee and the man’s groin— _ha_!—and he fell down hard in splattered gore, screaming. He was silenced when Allie’s second shot took his head. 

_Last one…_

She still couldn’t see him. _Cloaked_? 

“Allie!” 

A hook in her navel, and suddenly she was pulled over to her brother, who caught her in his arms. She scrambled to get back up, saw a gun aimed at them in the corner of her eye. 

_No time...!_

Suddenly, the soldier stiffened. His shot went wild as his whole body seizes. Allie gaped; she’d seen this not five minutes ago, she thinks as a hand glowing ghostly blue-white forces itself through the soldier’s chest. 

In that hand was a still-beating heart. 

The hand pulled back; the soldier fell, and in his place, heart still in his hand, was Trench Coat.

* * *

_Maker, why the fuck does this shit keep happening to us?_

“This shit” currently consisted of Allie going through the Omega markets for clothes to pinch, and hair dye, ( _So much for not backsliding_ …) all in the name of getting a possibly certified psychopathic killer off Omega. Now why were they doing this? It was a question that Allie was currently asking herself every five seconds, and could only come up with one answer: Mel’s _fucking_ altruism _._  

It had been a weird conversation for sure. 

After all the Cerberus soldiers were dead, Trench Coat had simply stared at the Hawke siblings for an awkwardly long time, his arm soaked in blood from having pulled it out of the last soldier’s chest. The man had a very unsettling gaze: unflinching, unwavering, and he hardly ever seemed to blink which Allie thought was especially creepy. She had kept her shotgun trained on the guy’s chest as she backed up to where Mel still kneeled, Mercy propped against his shoulder. And still Trench Coat stared. And stared. And _stared_ , until Allie finally snapped, “What?!” 

“Why did you help me?” he’d asked. 

_Oh_ , she’d thought. “Good question,” she’d muttered. She lifted a skeptic eyebrow, and threw a glance at her brother. 

Mel, for his part, regarded Trench Coat with a similar intensity as Trench Coat regarded him. It was…weird. Allie had almost asked if the two wanted some privacy, before Mel stood up, strapped Mercy across his back, and grinned his trademark stupid grin. “It was the right thing to do,” he’d told Trench Coat as though the man hadn’t nearly tried to off him before. As though it was all just that easy. 

Honestly, it made her want to punch her brother. And maybe wish for a very stiff drink. 

_Wonder if Anders has any of that bourbon he swears isn’t his left…_  

Still, she wove in and out of the market stalls, keeping her cloak up and sticking close to the shadows. To say she was unhappy about this whole mess was a colossal understatement. Not that she didn’t feel for Trench Coat to some degree. When she’d asked—demanded—an explanation for how he’d killed that last Cerberus soldier—and _nearly killed Mel_ , but of course Allie wasn’t the sort to hold grudges—the guy had pushed up his sleeve to bear the winding veins of his tattoo. Even Allie had to admit they were gorgeous: luminous blue-white that wove and twisted up Trench Coat’s arm like vines, like a Celtic knot. 

Then immediately felt sick as he explained that the ink was eezo. 

“Bullshit,” she’d whispered. 

“That should’ve killed you,” Mel had agreed. 

Trench Coat had merely lifted a disinterested eyebrow and told them, “As I understand it, I was the only subject to survive the grafting process.” 

_Subject. Grafting process_. It was sick, Allie thought, the clinical way he’d talked about the whole thing, as though almost bored. “How many others?” she’d asked. 

He’d been silent in thought for a minute, and then said, “Twenty that I know of.” 

Allie had shuddered, and had to hold herself back from doing it again as she thought the whole thing over. _Maker, this is so fucked up_ , she thought, as she grabbed for a newsboy cap. Trench Coat was unhinged, obviously so, and rightfully so, given what he’d told them. When they’d asked how old he was, he said he didn’t know. When they asked where he’d come from, he’d said “The Lab.” When they’d asked how he’d gotten away, he’d said, “I did as I was taught.” 

Such was the Catch-22 the Hawkes were confronted with. Either they leave the trained attack dog to the tender mercies of a bunch of psychos playing at god, or drag him out by the collar and hope he doesn’t have rabies. 

And of course, her brother’s _fucking_ altruism decided which of those two options they were going with. 

“Well, that settles it,” he’d declared, placing his hands on his hips in a decisive manner. Trench Coat had frowned in confusion, while Allie groaned, knowing what was coming. “We’re getting you off this rock!” 

_Goddamn it, Mel!_ But her brother’s mind was made up, apparently. And so, Allie had ultimately agreed. Grudgingly. 

Hence her sneaking around the markets of Omega. 

Her and Mel’s plan was relatively simple: Allie would pretend to be Fenris to get Cerberus off his scent, whilst he—disguised as a quarian—and Mel would pretend to be drinking buddies getting back to their ship after shore leave. With any luck, the two would be able to board The Champion with little to no hassle, and Allie could lead Cerberus on a wild goose chase before cloaking and making her own way back to the ship. 

Simple, right? 

As such, she and Mel had decided that the first course of action needed to be getting Fenris over to Kenn’s. Especially since the Cerberus forces were probably on the lookout for his trench coat and hoodie now. She could only thank whatever gods existed that Kenn’s shop was relatively close to Afterlife’s backdoor. 

As she came up to Kenn’s tiny stall, she caught the tail end of a whispered conversation, “—can’t just keep calling you Trench Coat. Do you have a name? Like, what did the scientists call you?” 

“Subject Alpha,” came Trench Coat’s rough timbre. Maker, his voice was disturbingly deep. 

Mel made a noise of disgust. “That name sucks. Hmm, maybe Alpha? No, that’s kinda feminine sounding…I ain’t calling you Subject, so…hey wait! What was the name of your project?” 

“Fenrir.” The word was almost a question. 

“Ooh, that’s cool! The Norse wolf that kills Odin, king of the gods and brings about Ragnarok, the apocalypse.” Mel was grinning in nerdy glee as Allie slipped behind the bar of Kenn’s stall. 

“He’s rather small for a god-killer,” she said as she decloaked. 

Mel jumped about three feet off the floor, and Trench Coat grew very still. “Maker’s ass, don’t _do_ that!” Mel exclaimed. Allie just sniggered. She looked to Trench Coat. 

“So we’re naming you now?” 

He shrugged, shoulders still tense. “I don’t really care either way.”

“Any problems?” the Mel asked, once he got his breathing back under control. 

“Not on my end,” Allie whispered, holding her bag of stolen goods to the light. 

Mel narrowed his eyes. “Did you pay for that?” 

Allie rolled her eyes and lied, “Yes.” 

“Good,” Mel whispered back. “No one’s noticed us, but…” he looked around the tiny, crowded stall. “Are you sure this is the right shop? I haven’t seen anyone here since we split up.” 

Allie frowned; worry making her stomach knot uncomfortably. She and Mel glanced at each other, and she pulled her pistol out in preparation as she made her way to the back of the store, whispering the young quarian’s name. “Kenn, are you here?”

 After a tense second, Kenn popped his head out from around the mountains of tech. He looked at the three crouched beneath his counter, and while Allie couldn’t see it, she was pretty sure Kenn was frowning in confusion beneath his helmet. “Ms. Hawke? What’s going on? Why are you crouched under the counter?” he looked at Fenris and Mel, “Who are they?” 

“All very good questions, but could we maybe answer them inside?” Mel asked with a dazzling grin. 

Kenn started in surprise; he had never actually met Mel before, Allie remembered. “O-of course. Please, come in.” 

The three breathed a little easier once behind the door separating Kenn’s store from his living quarters. Allie saw a mess of rations scattered across a tiny table, bits of circuitry and soldering scattered with it. So he’d been in the middle of lunch. Mel stepped up to the quarrian, a warm smile on his face and hand held out in greeting. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Kenn. Allie here’s got quite the crush.” 

Kenn took his hand, glancing between the two siblings as Allie rolled her eyes. “I do not.” 

Bastard just laughed. “I’m Mel, Allie’s troublesome older brother.” 

“He’s adopted.” 

“So she wishes, at least. And this is,” he hesitated then grinned, “Fenris. He’s the reason we’re here.” Both Allie and the newly christened _Fenris_ regarded Mel with identical raised eyebrows, which he annoyingly deflected with a pleased smile. Allie rolled her eyes, looking back to the young quarian. 

“We need your help, Kenn,” Allie continued. 

Kenn looked between the three. “I, uh—What…happened?” 

“You’ve heard of Cerberus, right?” Kenn stepped back in alarm. Allie gave a rueful smile, “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

“Turns out they’re doing experiments on humans; some real messed up shit,” Mel explained. “Fenris here managed to get away from them, and we’re trying to help him stay away from them.” 

“But they’ve got forces here on the station,” Allie took over. “We need to disguise him, and we were thinking an enviro-suit like you quarians use would be the best way to do it.” 

Mel grinned, “And before you ask, yes, I _would_ ask a volus, but I doubt they’d have one that’d fit. Besides, no one looks at a quarian twice, right? Got any spares we could have?” 

“I…” Kenn hesitated. Allie knew this was a long shot; quarians only ever had one suit all their lives. That Kenn had another lying around was not a very good bet, but it was their best option. 

Eventually, the young quarrian sighed, “I do so happen to have one, but…it belonged to my friend Jole. He…he was killed by some vorcha thugs, who took all our money. His suit…it’s the only thing I have left that I can bring back to the Fleet, so that they know of his passing.” He looked down, his fists clenched in anger and grief. “It’s the only thing I have left of him.” 

The room grew silent as Kenn’s words sunk in. 

At last, Mel stepped forward, resting his large hands on the young quarian’s shoulders. “I know it’s a lot to ask Kenn,” he murmured, “I get that, really. But this man’s life and freedom are in serious jeopardy. Those tatts he’s got, they make him stick out like a sore thumb. And the Cerberus forces out here probably know to look for a trench coat and hoodie. Your friend’s suit is his best shot of getting out reasonably unscathed.”

“They would know he wasn’t a quarian the second they saw him,” Kenn argued, “Your human legs don’t bend right to be quarian. And where would he put the extra fingers?” There was desperation to his argument, but it was still valid. 

It was at this point, Fenris broke his silence, “We should move on. It’s obvious the suit-rat has no intention of helping.” 

Cue the sudden spike in tension as Mel froze, Allie gawked, and Kenn whipped around and hissed, “What did you call me?!” 

Fenris didn’t respond, aside from lifting a disinterested eyebrow. 

Allie growled. Who the hell did this asshole think he was? 

“Apologize.” 

Every head turned to Mel as he turned to gaze at the white haired man, his usual smile gone. “Now, please.” He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t ground out his words; he simply ordered with a calm assurance that the order would be followed.

Fenris too stared at the eldest Hawke with a slow blink and an unreadable expression, and Allie in turn watched him. She kept a finger on her back, ready to pull her shotgun out at the asshole’s first move. 

The tension in the air was thick enough to cut. 

After a small eternity, Fenris looked over at Kenn—held still by Mel’s large hands—and said, “I apologize.” He said it slowly, clumsily, as though trying to speak through heavy anesthetics. Then turned and walked out of the room. 

Silence settled in in his wake. 

Mel gave a sigh and Kenn a final pat on the shoulder, and then left him and Allie alone. Allie, meanwhile, hand still on her gun, mentally questioned every life decision she’d ever made that had led her to this point. This awkward, awkward point. As she tallied up her life’s story, she straightened and massaged her temple in an attempt to stave off the raging headache that had been threatening her sanity for the last half-hour. “I’m really sorry about this Kenn.” 

Kenn was silent for a time. “Do you know what you’re doing with a guy like that, Ms. Hawke?” 

She snorted, “No clue. But Mel’s a fucking altruist with the life goal of getting himself killed, and I’m just the little sister trying to make sure he never achieves said goal.” She snorted, “Some days I wonder if he pulls this shit just to spite me.” 

“That Fenris guy is trouble.” 

Allie snorted, “ _No_. Next you’ll be telling me there’s no oxygen in space, or something really crazy like Aria’s a psychopathic bitch with a fucking god complex.” She turned her head away and muttered, “What the hell am I doing?” 

She and Kenn were silent for a time. “Well,” he ventured hesitantly, “I guess it’s like that saying you humans have: No good deed goes un-flogged?” 

“Unpunished,” she corrected automatically. “And ain’t that the fucking truth?” Allie sighed, finally turning and facing Kenn. “Listen, I know you wanna keep Jole’s suit to remember him by. I know what it’s like to lose someone close to you and only have one thing to keep them from being gone forever.” An idea began forming in her mind as she spoke, however, and she smiled slightly. “So, why don’t we trade?” 

“ _Trade_?” Kenn asked incredulously. 

Allie unzipped the neck of her flightsuit, and pulled out a chain upon which hung a set of rings. She looked up at Kenn as she pulled the chain off. “These were my parents’ wedding rings. We had to sell pretty much everything when they died; this is all I’ve got left.” She held out the chain to Kenn. “I’ll trade you these for Jole’s suit.”

Kenn stepped back, “Ms. Hawke, I couldn’t—” 

“In return, I swear to you on my parent’s graves that I will come back for these. And I will bring Jole’s suit with me.” Allie smiled, “Deal?”

* * *

_Maker, what have I gotten myself into?_  

Mel wondered sometimes if it should worry him how often in his life he’d asked himself this question. He supposed, when he thought about it, it was proof of just how many bad decisions he’d made up to this point. But he didn’t like thinking about that. He also didn’t like the fact that this was the fastest he’d ever started questioning his life’s decisions after that decision had been made. But he didn’t want to think about that, either. 

What he did want, rather badly in fact, was for Fenris to _stop hanging around in plain sight_. Maker’s breath, it was like the man didn’t know he was being hunted by one of the galaxy’s _biggest terrorist organizations_. At least he’d had the foresight to pull his hood back up. 

“You know,” Mel said conversationally, “someone’s going to shoot you if you keep standing there glaring at everyone.” 

No response. 

Mel sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward, praying for both patience and a miracle as he stepped over to lean against the pillar of salvaged tech Fenris stood before, their shoulders nearly touching in the small space. The white-haired man tensed. “Relax,” Mel murmured as he leaned most of his weight against the tech-tower. “You’re gonna give us away scrunching up like that.” 

“I do not like to be touched,” Fenris ground out. Mel looked over at him from the corner of his eye and thought about that. Mel was a tactile soul, something he’d inherited from both his parents; whenever he’d been stressed growing up, he’d looked to his mother for hugs or his father for a firm hand on his shoulder. It was when he was in the Reds that Mel had discovered how touch could be a discomfort—a punch, a grab, a pin… _other things_. It had affected him deeply for several years; even now, he still kept a bit of distance between himself and strangers. 

Given that he could still hear the echoes of the Cerberus soldiers’ words towards Fenris, and the revelations Fenris had bestowed upon the siblings towards the origins of his markings, he could only imagine how unenticing the incentive of touch would be to him. 

After several moments of study and thought, Mel sighed, and moved just another inch of space away from the white-haired man. It did not escape his notice at the slight relaxing of Fenris’ shoulders at the distance. “So just out of curiosity,” he said, “What exactly _is_ Project Fenrir?” 

Fenris glanced over from the corner of his eye, a single eyebrow rising in question. 

“I mean, what are you supposed to…” Mel gestured vaguely, “do? Be?” 

The other man stood stiff, silent for a long moment before whispering softly, “I do not know.” Mel stared at him in disbelief. 

“You mean they shoved a shit-ton of reality-warping poison _into your skin_ , and they never told you _why_?” He felt a little guilty as Fenris flinched, a hard look in his dark eyes.

“No, they did not.” 

“Fuck, man.” A thought occurred to him. “Is that why you ran?” 

Fenris was silent once more, his hand slipping absently into his coat pocket and clenching—around something?—but Mel waited, studying the man’s face in the quiet. He really was very pretty, in the same way most Japanese models were pretty. Actually, Mel couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was Japanese blood mixed in somewhere; Fenris’ eyes had a slight tilt to them— 

“One of the reasons.” 

“Huh?” Those eyes were turned to him now, his face no longer in profile, and wow, his voice— _dammit, Mel, focus!_ “Oh.” He cleared his throat. It was then he noticed his omni blinking with a call. 

He opened it to the image of Varric’s elcorian features staring back at him. 

“Varric the Marric! What can I do for you?” he asked, possibly a little too chipper. Beside him Fenris shifted a little further away, despite staring at Varric’s image with distinct curiosity. 

“With deep exasperation and judgement: Hawke, how many times must I tell you to leave your ringer on? This is the third time I’ve tried calling you. Confused: And what the hell is a ‘Marric?’” 

Mel blinked. “It is?” he minimized the call screen and checked his call history. Ooh, five missed calls—two from Isabela, one from Merrill, and…yep two from Varric. He winced as he pulled the call back up. “How mad is Bela with me right now?” 

Despite elcor not being able to emote as a species, Varric found a way to make his eyes twinkle with a dark glee. “With wry amusement: she is demanding Serrice Ice Brandy and a raise currently.” 

Mel sighed, bringing a hand up to massage his temple. “Tell her I’ll get her some Tylenol instead. She and Merrill are back on the ship, then?” Varric nodded. He grinned, though it didn’t reach his eyes much. “Glad to hear it.” 

The elcor blinked at his human captain. He tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. “With great suspicion and trepidation: Hawke, what are you not telling me?” 

Mel hesitated, stealing a glance at Fenris, and another at the door to Kenn’s living quarters, and groaned a little. What the hell was taking Allie so long? “I may have found us a new crew member,” he hedged at last. He very studiously did not look over at Fenris as he said this, despite the feel of eyes on him. 

Varric’s eyes narrowed further, “Surprised: oh?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Annoyed: And..?” 

“And I… may have run into a little trouble on my way back, that’s all,” Mel grinned sunnily and hoped Varric bought his bluff. 

But Varric was Varric, which meant that he was annoyingly perceptive, and not in the market for Mel’s bullshit. “Exasperated: as much as I have no trouble believing that, Hawke, I’ve known you for, contemplative: what, nearly a year now? Demanding: what are you not telling me?” 

Mel winced. “Seriously, Var…” he tried, and then stopped. Trying to dodge the elcor was nearly impossible if he thought a secret was being kept from him, and most times Mel didn’t even bother trying to hide anything from him. But this… After a moment he sighed. “Can you do me a solid and keep that which is broken every time it’s spoken?” he beseeched, knowing the elcor would get it. 

Varric was silent for an eternal moment. He gave a deep sigh that the microphone picked up as a hurricane. “Relenting: I expect that which is sought when I see you, Hawke.” 

Mel smiled with relief. “You’ll have it. Promise.” 

“Decisive: good. Wearily: so what is this new crew member’s name?” 

Mel grinned. He could still feel Fenris’ gaze on him. “Fenris.” 

“Amused: isn’t that what those cyborg guard dogs Hahe-Kedar just put out are called?” 

“Wait, they are?” 

Varric hummed a (very) deep affirmative. “Sunnily: Welcome to the madness, Fenris.” Mel chuckled and looked over to the man addressed, who looked more than a little uncertain—which on him, meant that he looked pissed. He smiled reassuringly at him before turning back to Varric. 

“He says hi. We’ll be home soon, pops.” 

“Amused: you better be, you whipper-snapper.” With that, the call cut and Mel was left staring at a blank screen. 

“I still have no idea who he learned that from.” 

Mel jumped with a yell—no, he did not _squeal_ , thank you, no matter how far Fenris’ eyebrows rose incredulously—as Allie materialized behind him from seemingly nowhere. “ _Goddamn_ it, Al! I told you not to do that!” 

Allie just laughed and turned to Fenris. “Kenn said yes. Go get dressed. And leave your clothes on the table.”

* * *

 

There was only one sink in Kenn’s room. It was rusted and grimy looking and Allie was honestly amazed the kid didn’t get sick and die just looking at it. But it would suit her needs just fine. She unzipped her flight suit down to the waist, ignoring Mel’s weary sigh and asked, “You got a regular knife, Melly?” 

“Yes,” he answered, obviously hesitant, “Why?” 

“I’m going to cut my hair.” 

Mel was silent. Allie looked over her shoulder at him, saw him staring at her with a disquieted expression. After another minute or two, Mel gave her his knife. As she reached for it, however, he grabbed her hand. “You don’t take any stupid risks,” he said seriously. 

She snorted, “I think you’re mistaking me for you.” 

Mel’s eyes narrowed in reproach. “I mean it, Allie.” 

She gave a small smile, with an appropriate touch of exasperation. “I know. I won’t.” 

Mel studied her for another minute before nodding and relinquishing the knife. Allie turned back to the sink as Mel turned to his own disguise. She loosened the tie holding her hair back, and in one swift motion, pulled the blade through, leaving a light, black frizz in its wake. She shook her bangs out in front of her face and trimmed them till they fell to the bridge of her nose. 

That done, she began to dye her hair. 

Given that she was attempting to turn her hair from black to white, she’d gotten two boxes of dye: one to lighten her hair, and the other to bleach it fully. She bound her breasts—which was actually rather painful, ow—as the first round of dye settled in her hair. She sat at the table and watched her brother pull on the disguise she’d gotten him as she waited as well. 

She’d found him a working class outfit—worn, faded, khaki pants he pulled over the leggings of his flight suit, long, black iron-toed boots to tuck his pants into, a multitude of crude leather work belts that criss-crossed over his hips in a surprisingly flattering manner and a light blue half-vest to go over the top half of his navy flight suit. Black, fingerless gloves and a newsboy cap sitting jauntily atop his black curls topped off the look. He hooked his welder’s goggles to the brim of the hat and grinned at Allie. “I feel so steampunk, right now.”

Allie laughed. 

Taking a look at her omni, she figured the dye had had long enough, and turned back to the sink to wash her hair. A quick look at the ends revealed that her hair had turned gray, and she started in on the second box of dye. Ten minutes later, she heard a squeak from the back of the room. _Must mean Fenris is done,_ she thought. She smirked, “Come now, Kenn, one would think you’d never seen a half-naked woman before,” she teased. 

It was so gratifying to make him stutter like that. 

She looked over to where Fenris and Kenn stood staring at her, and blinked as a green glass helmet reflected her regard back at her. The suit itself was a light brown, black belts and pouches wrapped around Fenris’ torso like snakes. His head and shoulders were covered in cloth, as most quarrian suits were, his a dark green with a pattern that suggested feathers at the shoulders. 

No pun intended, but it suited him. 

She turned once more to the sink, washed her hair one more time, and stood up to find her hair turned a bright white. It stood at odd angles and felt brittle but was otherwise perfect, and after quickly throwing Fenris’ discarded clothes over her flight suit, she turned towards him with a flourish. 

“Like looking in a mirror, isn’t it?” she teased. 

Fenris didn’t really react. At least, not that Allie could tell. He just stood there, silent under his newly acquired helmet and suit, looking for the entire world a quarian, if quarians were statues. It was more than a little eerie, actually, not being able to see the man’s face; the survivalist in Allie warned that it gave him an advantage. Now that she couldn’t see his expression, she couldn’t know when the man would snap and kill them. Her smirk hardened to a sneer at the thought. 

“Right then, Allie-cat,” Mel jumped in, completely oblivious to the tension as ever. “You know where you’re headed?” 

“Yep.” 

“Know how long you’ll be?” 

“Should be about twenty minutes. You going straight home?” she asked as she straightened the trench coat and pulled her hood up over her hair. 

Mel shrugged. “As long as no one stops us, yeah. I’ll tell Varric you might be late for supper.” 

Allie snorted, “I’d rather you tell Anders to crack open that bottle of bourbon he insists isn’t his in his quarters. I’m probably going to need some hard liquor after this is over. And maybe a good lay.”

He grimaced, “TMI, Allie.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deleted Scene: “Incredulously: So where in the hell did you find hair dye on Omega, anyway? Matter-of-factly: you humans are the only sentient species with hair in the universe,” Varric pointed out with all his genre-savvy writer senses, his eyes narrowed as he stared at the siblings through Mel’s omnitool.
> 
> The two Hawkes grinned, “Convenient writing.”
> 
> “With great understanding: Oh.”
> 
> (So why would a store on a space-station inhabited predominantly by aliens who have no hair to dye, be selling hair dye? Because shut up.)
> 
> Once again, no Isabela or Merrill. I did consider changing Mel's conversation with Varric into him talking to Bela instead, but...no. Not yet, anyway. (I also have too much shameless fun writing elcor!Varric... ;P) Maybe next chapter...but! Fenris POV section for sure next chapter!! :D finally get some answers about what in the hell's going on. maybe. possibly. (probably not.)
> 
> Also, yes this is a series (no really!). I've started rudimentary work on the the other two fics going into this series: The Amell Chronicles, and The Trevelyan Chronicles, but I don't think they'll really get off the ground till I've finished this. This series will seriously be the death of me. Pray for my soul.
> 
> Oh, and yes, Mel is a mage-->biotic, and Allie is a rogue-->infiltrator, though with tweaks and personal additions made where it fits these two better than the basic classes. BECAUSE I WILL NOT HAVE MY CHARACTERS SHOVED IN A CLASS-BOX!!! Also, I probably won't mention this in the series-proper, cause when will i have time with all the shit I've got to cover, but Mel's full name is Mellan, and Allie is Allana. yes, yes i know, poor Mel. in my defense, I didn't realize until his name had stuck how it sounded, and by then it was too late. but the meaning is awesome! it means lightning child in welsh. which totally makes up for the fact that most people read his name as the fruit, right? right? 
> 
> Anydoodle, see ya'll soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! I finally got to a point that I could post this!! :D Hi, AO3 world!
> 
> So, as with all things in life--on the internet--feedback is appreciated. Even if it's a "The Reason You Suck" speech. (Though, if you do that, please give sufficient reason for why I suck. Don't just blow hot air in my face, that's rude.) Either way, let me know thoughts and feelings, please and thank you!
> 
> EDIT: Also! I have decided to put short "Deleted Scenes" into the end notes for various shits and giggles. For Chapter 1:
> 
> Isabela swayed drunkenly into Merrill as the two women made their way back to The Champion, and bitched once more, “So where the hell were we during this whole chapter? I mean, fuck, Varric gets introduced! What’re we, chopped liver?”  
> “Ooh, I’ve never had human liver before!” Merrill chirped, “Does it taste as good as grilled Salarian liver?” 
> 
> I apologize to all Isabela fans everywhere for not being able to fit her in somewhere. I’ve chastised my plot bunnies thoroughly, and made them all feel completely rotten for forgetting about her and Merrill. Also, I’ve never been able to find it online, but I swear Garrus has a line on Sur’Kesh after Wrex’s quip about preferring his Salarian liver raw that goes, “I prefer mine grilled.” Maybe I imagined it, but…am I wrong in thinking it a very Garrus-thing to say? So this is my tribute to the line-that-probably-wasn’t.
> 
> Until next time!


End file.
